


so many lovers in need of organs

by parishilton



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/F, Lesbian AU, Wizard of Oz References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parishilton/pseuds/parishilton
Summary: in her bedroom, katya wrestles with her doc martens, the laces wet from dragging in a puddle outside the venue, making her already clammy hands worse. recently she’s been wearing them again, some kind of half-assed attempt at recreating her youth. trixie is sitting on the other side of the bed, fluffing the pillows to her liking. it’s katya’s side of the bed, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell trixie to move.





	so many lovers in need of organs

**Author's Note:**

> in decay / phedre.
> 
> this story is inspired by the high school episodes of unhhhh and it's been collecting metaphorical dust for months, so i've decided to post what i've got so far. it takes place predominately in the mid 00s, my favorite time for pop culture, but the characters are mirrored with characters from the wizard of oz.

after their show, katya undresses backstage, peeling off her silver sequined dress and yanking on black women’s leggings and a black pullover sweater that knows no gender. it also knows no deodorant, laundry detergent, or dryer sheets. she bought it two months ago, has worn it to bed almost every night since, and keeps ‘forgetting’ to wash it. she doesn’t have the energy to finish de-dragging, so she clambers into the back of an _uber_ courtney got for the three of them with her foundation shiny with sweat and her wig matted with sweat at the base of her neck.

katya groans at her reflection in the camera of her iphone, her nose pushing against the screen as she brings it closer. her mascara has transferred under her eyes, little black dots that trixie will probably point out and cackle at.

“if you’re looking for your sense of dignity, it's back on the stage floor you dry humped while wearing a _forever 21_ dress,” trixie says in deadpan, while looking straight ahead. katya tries to hold back a laugh with a rough cough.

“if it’s not psoriasis, it’s shitty mascara, or bad setting spray,” katya declares, her face illuminated in the light from her phone. trixie is bathed in shadows and katya is only aware of her proximity based off of trixie’s denim-clad leg rubbing roughly against her legs. it’s dark enough that katya can almost forget courtney is in the passenger seat, and some stranger in the driver’s, until they reach a road lit up by streetlights.

when trixie turns to look at katya, she snorts. “is that how aja does her fake freckles? she just puts on too much mascara and blinks?”

courtney ignores the noise coming from the backseat. she has chosen to remain in full drag and is reaping the benefits of it now, her voice lilting higher after their driver laughs at something courtney has said. her short, curly wig lightly blows in the breeze from her open window, and katya thinks she has a curl stuck to her mouth with lip gloss. courtney oozes with femininity. katya wonders if their driver thinks she’s actually a woman. if courtney thinks she’s going to bring this man back to her apartment, with it’s one tiny bed and very thin walls, she’s in for a rude awakening.

trixie elbows katya and juts her chin out to point to the front seats, where courtney’s hand, complete with her manicured glued-on pearls, is resting playfully on their driver’s shoulder. “fucking slut!” trixie laughs under her breath. “make her stop!”

katya internally groans. “driver!” she says sharply. “my place is coming up right after this corner.”

* * *

“okay girls,” katya says, feeling a little like a babysitter, with two precocious younger girls looking at her, waiting for instructions on where to go. “bedroom’s thatta way. make yourselves comfortable.”  the couch will do for katya just fine, she’s crashed there plenty of times when she’s had company over after a grueling performance.

courtney nods and is already jumping off the couch when trixie stops her with one hand gently reaching for courtney’s knee. “actually, i think i’ll stay in there with katya, if you don’t mind.”

katya’s head whips around. she doesn’t understand. “really? are you sure?”

“yeah,” trixie says nonchalantly. katya feels her stomach fall out of her ass. trixie is a smart one, that seductress. she’s not doing anything to make courtney suspicious. _good call, trixie_ , she thinks. “is that cool?” trixie asks courtney.

before she can stop herself, katya sees her and trixie in her head, fucking under her sheets. courtney looks a little green, maybe because she’s imagining it too. poor thing. katya wishes she had the heart to turn trixie down, so courtney won’t have to listen to her and trixie fucking gently and passionately, like two secret dykes in love in the sixties, doing it for the last time before their husbands, stan and bill, come back from vietnam to marry them. it’s going to be brutally tantric and more romantic than any love scene in any movie ever made. this is the night katya will talk about for the rest of her life, the night when her and trixie will finally consummate their love.

in her bedroom, katya wrestles with her _doc martens_ , the laces wet from dragging in a puddle outside the venue, making her already clammy hands worse. recently she’s been wearing them again, some kind of half-assed attempt at recreating her youth. trixie is sitting on the other side of the bed, fluffing the pillows to her liking. it’s katya’s side of the bed, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell trixie to move.

trixie leans back against katya’s pillows and begins scrolling through something on her phone. she’s wearing her own merch, her pink baseball tee, and katya thinks it’s so tacky. she loves it. “you know i’m not going to let you go to bed without kissing me,” katya says very seriously.

trixie looks mildly amused. she crosses her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrows as if to say _yeah, right, stop fucking with me._ when katya leans over and presses her mouth to trixie’s, trixie’s body becomes very still. she doesn’t think trixie is actually surprised - she had been feigning ignorance when katya had said she was going to kiss her. it’s more like trixie is unsure whether she actually wants to kiss back or not. gently, trixie’s hand comes up to rest on katya’s forearm.

katya pulls back slowly, not wanting trixie to follow her lead out of pity. trixie’s hand is still resting on katya’s forearm as katya lightly pants. she grins maniacally at trixie. “that was hot, mama.”

“that wasn’t totally abhorrent,” trixie says, shrugging. her cheeks are slightly pink, even without her neon pink blush. there’s still a faint trace of orange foundation by her hairline. katya is completely entranced and completely ecstatic. trixie is enjoying their kissing - katya could die of happiness.

“high praise,” katya jokes, and leans in again, expecting trixie to duck away and start laughing. instead, trixie leans up and meets katya halfway. katya kisses her lightly, not wanting to push it. when trixie continues to kiss her back, katya gets an idea. she wants to test it - to see if trixie wants this as badly as she does. maybe trixie is just lonely and accepting the only attention she’s gotten in a while - or maybe she’s madly in love with katya, completely manipulated the situation to allow her to stay in katya’s bed with her, and plans to let katya fuck her into katya’s small, squeaky mattress.

katya stops leaning over trixie and falls down to her side, and trixie actually follows, turning over on her side to continue kissing katya. trixie’s hand moves from katya’s sheets to katya’s shoulder, her fingers grazing over katya’s neck. katya shivers slightly and presses closer. trixie is so warm. her body heat makes katya want to lean back over trixie and climb on top of her, but she doesn’t want to press her luck. still, katya finds herself pushing one leg between trixie’s. she moves to hold trixie by the chin, her mouth opening trixie’s. pressing her tongue up against the roof of trixie’s mouth, katya sighs reverently.

suddenly, trixie’s hands move to push at katya’s chest. she’s breathing hard and her face is even more flushed, but she looks frustrated. she lets out a heavy sigh like she was merely tolerating katya’s whim and now wants to be done with doing so. “i mean, maybe if you were younger,” trixie says with a shrug and an apologetic face, which katya interprets as trixie saying _i still wouldn’t have fucked you if you were younger, i’m just trying to placate you._  

 _“she and i conjoined our bodies in a hot tangle of...friendship. when i tried to...very nonchalantly stick my tongue down her throat, she-”_ katya says, retelling the night some many months later, hyping up the crowd with a gagging noise that trixie didn't actually make, but sends the audience into hysterics at her expense.

in that moment, katya is hideously embarrassed. she drops her head into her arms, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow, rubbing her face into the sleeve of her sweater. when she finally reemerges, the sleeve is covered in splotches of foundation. katya’s expertise at reading signals that aren’t really there are only outweighed by her expertise in making more money every month than she used to see in a full year, and yet mysteriously still never managing to save one penny.

katya forces herself to roll away from trixie in bed, stares at the wall and tries not to count trixie’s even breaths. she imagines some other world, some other time and place where she and trixie are just teenagers or young adults with no concept of what they're looking for, willing to experiment in order to find out what that might be. if she had met trixie for the first time when trixie was younger, she would have swooped in and swept trixie right off her feet. she would have loved to have been the first guy who trixie ever got to kiss, or fiercely debate queer cinema with, setting a precedence for which trixie would never find anyone else to live up to, always comparing katya to every guy who came after.

instead, katya has ill-timed makeout sessions when trixie is feeling lonely, and an audience roaring at her with laughter when she recounts trixie's disgust with kissing her.

in the morning, trixie is casually making pancakes in katya’s apartment, with one of katya’s old aprons on that hasn’t seen the light of day in three years. courtney is sitting at the table, with a can of whipped cream in her hand. courtney throws the can back and squirts a mouthful of the whipped cream into her own mouth.

katya leans in the doorway barefoot, smiling softly as she watches trixie flipping her pancake over and onto one of katya’s plates.

“how was your sleepover?” courtney asks, with an expectant look on her face, mouth agape and whipped cream making her voice sound like she’s got cotton stuck in her throat.

trixie snorts. “uneventful." trixie is a wonderful liar, that's just another talent she has that katya doesn't have, along with musical ability and tact.

“how is it that nobody has wifed trixie up yet?” katya asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “i know all i had in my fridge was leftover chinese and a container of orange juice, yet you've prepared a feast.”

trixie ignores her statement completely. “i hope this isn’t, like, your meth-cooking apron, because i’ve been wiping my hands on it, and then touching my face.”

katya’s mouth drops open. “tracy, i didn’t cook my _own_ meth! what do you think i am, a scientist?”

“no, because if you were a scientist, you would have already invented a time machine to go back and hit on me before you were old.”

katya’s already open mouth drops even further and she squawks, stomping her foot in an undignified manner. “that was evil!”  

courtney looks back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match. “now girls,” she says with a raised eyebrow, ever the pacifist, “let's all just calm down and have a pancake.”

* * *

trixie’s crown is resting snugly atop her wavy platinum blonde wig, her dress a floor-sweeping pink plaid pattern that looks like a tablecloth dolly parton would have set an apple pie on for a nineteen-seventies album cover. it’s absolutely grotesque. katya wants to tear the dress into tiny squares, eat some of them, and then fuck trixie with her tongue and some apple pie flavored lube, while lana del rey’s _cherry_ plays in the background. she’s not sure that apple pie flavored lube exists, but it should. trixie waves her scepter around to gesture to the sights outside of their _uber_ as they leave the parking lot. she's speaking animatedly about how nature was so much more well-preserved in her hometown than it has been in los angeles, but all katya can think of is how proud she is of trixie for winning.

their _uber_ driver smiles. “oh, really? i grew up across from a nature preserve. my parents were also big into hiking and fishing, so we spent a lot of time outdoors.”

trixie and katya are apparently competing for their _uber_ driver's attention, which is a losing battle, since he's probably not even gay. if he were, though, katya is positive that she could nab him. trixie might be gorgeous, but when anyone competes for a man against katya, everything they do seems prudish and stiff by comparison. in order for trixie to steal this guy away from katya, she's going to have to lie like she's never lied before about katya's character. well, two can play at that game.

trixie grins. “me too! i used to spend every summer outdoors camping and fishing. katya is from the city and never went outdoors a day in her life, though. that’s why she’s so pasty. she would never go hiking.”

katya slaps trixie’s thigh as hard as she can. “you rotted cunt! that's not true. you know i love nature!"

their _uber_ driver doesn't seem phased at all by their bickering and abhorrent language. he makes eye contact with trixie in the rearview mirror. "this is gonna sound crazy, but you remind me of one of my friend's brothers i haven't seen in, like, ten years." he chuckles, then continues to awkwardly ramble. "never mind - i probably sound like a fucking nutcase. i swear i'm not high - i don't fuck with that shit. you guys wanna take this detour? it's near hot springs!"

katya raises her eyebrows. the guy doesn't specify with what shit exactly he's thinking of, which leads katya to believe that he's probably from some podunk, small as balls southern town that never experienced so much as a missing cat scandal, much less a major drug epidemic, and moved to los angeles yesterday. fucking _shit_ , trixie is probably his type. she's got antiquated ideas about love and marriage, is from a town with a lesser population than the street katya grew up on, and unironically listens to dolly parton's greatest hits albums on a daily basis. by this time next year, they'll probably be engaged. katya had better act fast.

trixie elbows katya in the gut. "go on, give us a taste of your signature meth-head acting, and tell him how you don't fuck with that shit either," trixie simpers, with a playful little smirk.

"oh, i don't," katya says. she's not technically lying - those days are far behind her. "trixie also isn’t familiar with the concept of hard drugs. she’s from a small, inbred, backwoods, cousin-fucking town. she's a real catch, but she's a total attention whore, so she'll force you to choose between her and your family, because she hates families, cousins included."

“that’s not true! i love my cousins!” trixie says animatedly.

katya gives her a sidelong look. “in what position?”

trixie’s mouth drops open, and a long, enthused screech follows. "at least milwaukee _has_ nature! all boston has is a drug problem, a homeless problem, and jujubee."

katya snorts. "to quoth a very smart lady, _'i'd rather be dead in boston than alive in milwaukee'."_

it's the last thing she remember saying before she blacks out completely. 

* * *

katya’s forehead is still resting on a hard surface, but when she lifts her head, she’s looking down at the wooden bar counter that has so many scratches that katya guesses she has the imprints of them on her cheek now. there’s a glass with a water stain around the base sitting beside her hand, with clear liquid inside.

no, this is fine. they probably crashed and she probably blacked out inside the _uber_ with trixie and the police brought them to the nearest run-down bar to give their statements. fucking idiot _uber_ driver with his fucking idiotic water obsession, he just fucking _had_ to take them through a natural detour, didn’t he? speaking of water, katya feels how dry her throat is when she swallows, so she reaches for the glass of water beside her, and throws it back quickly, only to promptly spit it out, spewing her spit all over the bar counter. well, that wasn’t water. what fucking idiot bartender would give a car crash survivor a glass of straight vodka? she sure as hell wouldn’t have ordered this. she’s been sober for so long that even the smell of the vodka, like rubbing alcohol, makes her start gagging.

katya looks up finally to see where she is and she sees an old man staring at her furtively, with judgement written clearly all over his face. “you’re cut off for the night,” he says, shaking his head, “fucking kids around here are all lightweights,” he mutters under his breath, throws a dirty rag over his shoulder, and stalks off.

katya snorts. she’s pushing forty, but this bartender must be so old that he considers forty-year-olds kids.

“bitch, why do you look so tired?” a familiar voice says from beside him, “honey, it’s 2007, concealer isn’t just for girls anymore - and bags are for carrying tiny dogs - not for your under-eyes.”

katya turns and nearly falls off her bar stool. “ _alyssa_? what the fuck are you doing here? did you have a drag show too?”

alyssa goes red in the face with anger. she reaches over and grabs roughly at katya’s wrist. “do you know where we are right now? this town’s population is outnumbered by cows by, like, five-thousand. that bartender helped beat up two gay men last week for holding hands, never mind dressing up like ladies and doing high-kicks. i don’t know why you would call me by that name, but don’t you ever use it here again, are we clear on _that_ , you tired-ass bitch?”

katya’s mouth drops open. “what? this happened in los angeles? we aren’t outnumbered by cows here,” katya says adamantly. then, she snorts. “we’re probably outnumbered by kombucha tea and vegan burger food-trucks fifty-to-one, though.”

“ _los angeles_? honey, how drunk _are_ you?” alyssa asks. "this is _milwaukee_." she’s wearing a blue button-up shirt tucked into jeans, with a black belt, and dress shoes, with not a stitch of makeup on, and her boy hair. katya looks her up and down in stupification. what the fuck is she wearing?

“what the fuck are you wearing?” katya asks, more stumped by this than anything alyssa is saying.

alyssa looks affronted. “what the fuck are _you_ wearing?”

katya looks down. she forgot she was wearing one of trixie’s light pink sweatshirts. it’s stained with little specks of blood and katya can suddenly smell the fumes of burnt rubber coming off her in waves. she shrugs and her attention gets quickly turned to a group of rowdy men in the corner of the bar who seem to be yelling obscenities at the low-resolution television with bunny-ears attached.

 _“britney spears’ behavior in the past year has progressively become more and more worrisome. the pop-star was spotted shaving her_ own head _today, leaving handfuls of hair scattered everywhere on this california barber shop’s floor.”_

alyssa shakes her head sadly. “i understand that frustration,” she says sympathetically, “that’s what i want to do whenever someone tells me my wig is flat.” she sighs heavily.  

“that happened _today_?” katya asks, her heart pounding. _oh, god, what is happening?_

alyssa snorts and throws back a shot of what looks like whiskey. “honey, that’s not the only thing that happened today.” she swallows and smacks her lips together loudly. “i just threatened to fire my seamstress today at school - she just laughed at me and threatened to tell my neighbor about my crush on him. evil skank!"

by now, katya has come to terms with the fact that this is an elaborate dream, which is, in all honesty, not that hard for her to make herself believe. after all, she’s dreamt that she had a vagina before, got diagnosed with that bizarre illness from that _grey’s anatomy_ episode where you orgasm every time you sneeze, and that jodie foster came forward as her birth mother, and those were all dreams from the same _night_. “school?” katya asks.

“i’m the librarian and theater coach at the high school.”  

katya frowns. “you’re both?”

alyssa shrugs like it’s no big deal. “the vice principal is also the history teacher, and the secretary is also my manicurist and the town wedding planner.” she looks down at her leather wristwatch and katya can’t believe what she’s seeing. she half expects alyssa to bend down and spring back up wearing a voluminous brown, curly wig, and a pageant gown. instead, here sits this man who could easily pass as a straight guy. “oh, shit,” alyssa says, “i forgot to give the seamstress trixie’s measurements. i’m getting sick and fucking tired of this job. when am i going to stop working for these honky-tonk folk at this rinky-dink town and open my own dance studio in the city?”

katya freezes. “who’s measurements?”

“oh, sorry,” alyssa sighs, “that’s my star pupil - she's the only talented one. the rest of those fucking kids are either going to end up milking cows or being the milked cows themselves, with babies all over their titties."

katya realizes then that she’s not dreaming. this is real life. all her hard work, sobriety, and career success has led her backwards - for a second chance - only, now she gets to see where and how trixie grew up, and gets to be a _part_ of it. she has to take this opportunity and run with it. this hits her all at once like a nature-loving _uber_ driver driving straight into a lake with bags of sand in the trunk. she has to convince alyssa to quit her job so that coaching position opens up. she knows she could teach theater if she wants - for fuck’s sake, she went to _massart_.

alyssa cranes her neck over to make sure the bartender is not there before she reaches over the bar counter like she owns the place and pours herself another glass of whiskey. “goddamn men in this town wouldn’t say yes to a date with me if their dick was on fire and my mouth was the only source of hydration in the tri-state area.”

katya chokes back a laugh, imaging that alyssa will probably be less apt to do katya this favor if katya laughs openly at her misfortune. “so - you said you want to open your own dance studio in the city. what city?”

“houston, texas, baby.” alyssa drunkenly throws one khaki-pant covered leg over the other, before quickly putting it back down, seeming to realize it wasn’t the most masculine way to sit in the world. “texas is the land of big hair, big dreams, and willie nelson.”

“what’s stopping you?” katya asks, dropping her chin into her palm, wondering with genuine interest where alyssa’s career is going in this bizarre dream. maybe this is just part of her journey - a transitory period between alyssa’s move from dance to drag.

“what stops anyone from going after what they want?” alyssa asks, sighing heavily and pushing her empty glass away from her.

katya shrugs. “fear of rejection, failure, abandonment, repeat drug dependency, and having to use a public bathroom.”

alyssa stares, her eyes slightly drooping under the heavy weight of her alcohol-induced stupor. “you’re right - i am going to quit my job. fuck being afraid of failure.” she rises from her bar stool on two remarkably steady legs for someone who must have drank several glasses of whiskey. katya is mildly impressed. “but first - speaking of public bathrooms-” alyssa interrupts herself to gag slightly, raising both hands to cover her mouth. she begins to make her way across the room and takes a sharp turn, hands over her mouth all the while, and suddenly katya is significantly less impressed.

katya follows, out of her own morbid curiosity, and gently eases the door open. there’s only two stalls and neither look big enough to be handicapped-accessible ones - that can’t be legal. one of the two light bulbs is out, so katya makes her way over to the sink, stands under the one light bulb that _does_ work, though it's flickering like she's in a silent horror film from the twenties, and gapes at her reflection.

her under-eyes are as gaunt as always, but her eyes themselves seem more youthful, with no sign of crow’s feet in sight. her hairline is full, honey blonde, and her hair itself is thicker and shaggier. it's cropped slightly above her shoulders and is full of choppy layers. it's basically debbie harry's hair during the late seventies, but not platinum blonde. she doesn’t seem to have a receding hairline anymore. her skin is as translucently pale as ever, but she seems to have a small patch of rough and scaly psoriasis on the side of her nose. it's where she used to get her psoriasis when she was in her twenties. 

she’s young again, and a _woman_. katya raises one slightly shaky hand to touch the dry patch of skin by her nose. she’s so confused that she can’t even laugh when seeing her shaking hands, which remind her of one of trixie’s favorite jokes at her expense. trixie has told more people than katya can count how katya wore shake-and-go wigs because she used to shake it off and go into rehab. _oh, fuck._ no wonder the bartender had called her a kid. she could pass for twenty-five again.

katya drops her still shaking hands to the sink counter and directly into a piece of chewed-up pink gum resting there. she fucking hates public bathrooms. this is why she never used the public bathrooms during high school.

wait. 

 _high school._ she supposes if this really isn’t a dream, then she’s here for a reason. if katya is in her mid-twenties, trixie must be in high school here, and trixie once said she would have slept with katya if she had gone to high school with her, so this must be the reason. she’s here to - to fuck trixie? katya grimaces and looks at herself in the mirror.

she may look younger and hotter, but she’s wearing a pink sweatshirt with blood stains on it, so she looks like a deranged psychopath. she has a lot of fucking work to do.

* * *

it turns out that the milwaukee salvation armies are exactly like the boston salvation armies katya is used to, with run-down exteriors. the shingles are faded and discolored from age, much like katya’s skin before she wound up back in time. it’s the kind of joke trixie would be apt to make at katya’s expense, or even the kind of joke that katya would text trixie in a more self-deprecating manner, but before she can reach trixie anytime soon, she has to find a more suitable wardrobe for becoming trixie’s new librarian and theater coach.

the salvation army is notoriously homophobic, so katya has no moral qualms about shoplifting there. she also has no qualms about shoplifting there because she’s apparently now reliving her early twenties, so it feels like the suitable thing to do. she manages to deck herself out in several questionably bulky layers beneath her already bulky sweatshirt, a mod-podge of vintage polka-dotted sweaters and fair-isle sweater-vests, several more current flimsy, floral slip dresses a la courtney love, and even one blood-red blazer with shoulder-pads that are really proving difficult to flatten beneath her sweatshirt.

the one lonesome cashier is taking a personal call at the register, yammering about her manicure, and katya wonders if it was done by the principal’s secretary at the high school, but she would rather use the opportunity to briskly walk out of the store than to stay and chat. on her way out the door, she passes by a shoe rack, sees a pair of truly heinous black mules in her size, and discreetly walks out with them in hand too. they’ll have to do, because no high school is going to hire her if she waltzes in for an interview wearing the same _doc martens_ as half the student population.

as she’s fumbling with the shoes in hand, trying to conceal them also under her over-stuffed sweatshirt, she smacks into a girl head-on. “oh, fuck! i’m sorry.”

the other girl is spread-eagled on the pavement below them, having being knocked over by katya’s inattention. she has the scrawniest chicken-legs that katya has ever seen, absurdly long and spaghetti-thin. “you should be,” the girl drawls slowly in a deep, yet curiously still effeminate voice. “were you shoplifting from _salvation army_?” she asks, looking down as she dusts off her low-cut jeans and begins to stand up. “that’s ballsy. not as ballsy as this homeless look,” she says, “but i guess if mary-kate and ashley can do it….”

holy-fucking-shit. she’s wearing a gray zip-up hoodie, a black beanie, _converse_ sneakers, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses similar to the ones katya believes she owns in the future, though they can’t be in style yet... she’s gangly, pale, and she’s young, yet has the voice of a chain-smoking seventy-year-old man. _“alaska?”_ she gasps.

“shit,” alaska murmurs quietly, “i didn’t know anybody this far out in the boonies went to my university's theater productions all the way in the city. you like my work?” alaska looks katya up and down again, frowning. “that’s...concerning.”

 _“bitch!”_ katya declares, chuckling. “i was in a car accident earlier. don’t judge me with your judgy, judgemental eyes.”

alaska makes a face. “you got into a car accident and your first thought was _‘wow, fuck calling triple-a to get my car towed. i should really go to salvation army’?”_

katya grins despite herself. why call triple-a when she has a member of the _aaa girls_ here right now? she imagines getting into a car wreck and calling alaska, willam, and courtney to help her. katya would be willing to bet that alaska would sit on the side of the road, whining about the humidity getting to her wig. willam and courtney would stand beside katya’s totaled car with one leg bared each, hoisting up their dresses with one hand, while their other hands would be holding a thumb out to hitchhike with. it’s not exactly like katya can relay the idea to alaska, who is already looking at her like she has two heads. she also can’t explain the _uber_ crash, considering _uber_ hasn’t yet been invented. “it’s a long story,” katya offers.

“let me guess,” alaska says, “you’ve recently dropped out of college and ran away from home so you could avoid telling your parents. now you have nowhere to live and no money for a motel.”

katya stares. it’s not the truth, but it certainly sounds like it could be. “how did you know?”

“it’s a long story,” alaska says. when katya raises an eyebrow, alaska rolls her eyes. “that was what happened to the last girl i dated. now that we’ve broken up, she’s moved out of my apartment and i need rent money. you have a job lined up yet?”

“no,” katya answers honestly, “but i’ve heard of a job opening and i’m going to call today.”

“congratulations,” alaska says with a lopsided smile, “you’re my new roommate. let me carry those fugly things.” alaska reaches for the mules that katya is still struggling to stick up her sweatshirt.

“oh, wow. your nails are incredible,” katya notices. they’re a glossy black, square with sharp edges, and directly contradict alyssa’s previous drunken mumblings about it being dangerous for one gender to risk acting like another, or for one gender being interested romantically in the same gender, while in milwaukee, since alaska has just told her she dates women. alyssa and alaska must be on two very different spectrums here in town. maybe they’ve just never crossed paths, despite how tiny this town must be, and maybe the circle alaska runs with is just more progressive and open-minded than the people alyssa associates with.

“thanks,” alaska drawls, her voice rising and falling dramatically, “i do manicures on the side if you ever want one, but i’m mainly the high school principal’s secretary.”

katya balks. that means alyssa and alaska must have known each other. “shit, actually, the job opening i heard of is for the school’s librarian and theater coach.”

alaska does a double take, then chuckles throatily. "ha! they must have finally canned justin for hitting on all the football jocks who try out for the plays for an easy grade. can you imagine being named _justin_?" she snorts. "it's so common!" 

katya coughs loudly to conceal her laughter. she supposes there's no rational way of convincing someone that in the real world, they're actually a man named justin too. "oh, yeah. that would be, uh  - that would be terrible. my name is horribly common in russia, but not here. it's katya." 

alaska turns to her as they walk down the street, looking at her approvingly. "well, katya, seeing as you're my new roommate, tell me something about yourself." with her low-cut jeans, beanie, and _converse_ , she reminds katya of avril lavigne when avril was still in her tomboy stage. alaska has lesbian culture perfected. 

"like what?" katya asks, amused. 

"well - let's see. i work at a high school, you're probably about to work at one too. what were you like in high school?" 

 _"i drank my blood in study hall,"_ katya remembers herself telling trixie one day when they were filming. 

 _“you were a scary goth kid vampire in high school?”_ trixie had asked, then cackled after, mocking katya's classmates by imitating them saying, _"who cares if he fucks guys - he's drinking his blood!”_

"well," katya says to alaska, "i had quite a harrowing experience in high school. i was a vampire. like, the whole nine yards. i drank blood, tried to distract people with my weirdness so they wouldn't realize i was queer, and i listened to, like, dark hard rock." 

“i don’t understand,” alaska asks in a whine, for the twelfth time, “what does that even mean? like, evanescence? linkin park? nickelback?”

katya laughs and slaps her thigh. “you’re fucking clueless! i’m talking pearl jam, nirvana, soundgarden. do you live under a rock? nickelback is to hard rock as _chuck e. cheese_ is to parisian gourmet restaurants.”

“vampires aren’t real to begin with!” alaska says in exasperation as she pulls her beanie further down. 

“vampires are as real as you and i,” katya declares, “and that’s what i listened to when i was one of them.”   

alaska’s car is the fugliest thing she’s ever seen - a gold jeep grand cherokee with the passenger's side door in black, clearly originally belonging to another vehicle altogether. katya gives alaska a look of disbelief and jabs her thumb in the direction of the black door. “what happened here?”

alaska juts her lips out like she’s slightly embarrassed and doesn’t want to say. “that post office came out of nowhere, okay?”

katya smirks and gets into the suv, peeling off her bloodstained pink sweatshirt and wiggling out of her shorts. “which outfit do you think is most appropriate for a spontaneous job interview?” she looks down into her lap of miscellaneous clashing patterned items.

“why don’t you just go in those men’s boxer briefs and try to seduce the staff?” alaska asks, fiddling with the radio stations. "if you hadn't just told me you were a dyke, i would know now." she settles on a station that’s halfway through _“call me when you’re sober”_ by evanescence.

“tell me about the principal,” katya says, “is he into younger women?” she throws handfuls of polka-dotted sweaters and floral sweater-vests behind her, towards alaska’s bizarrely spotless backseat. “and why is your car so fucking clean if you’re a performer? where are all the costumes?”

alaska’s lip turns up at the corner. “rent has been tight since my ex moved out. i sold half my costumes and the other half are at my friend’s place - we used my stuff for a photoshoot this past weekend.”

“a photoshoot for what?” katya asks, her new and unfamiliar breasts bare and exposed when she peels off trixie’s pink sweatshirt. she quickly pulls one of the slip dresses over her head, afraid of flashing another driver on the road before she looks around and realizes there’s no way that’s happening anytime soon. on either side of the road, there are no other cars, and the landscape is barren. they pass one gas station and a couple miles past that, there’s a church with no cars in the dirt parking lot.

“for exposure,” alaska says with an unrefined shrug, “they were nude. i did it for fame. we found the guy on _craigslist_.”

katya furrows her eyebrows as she yanks her arms into the sleeves of the red blazer with the huge shoulderpads. “you did it to become famous? with some guy from _craigslist_? girl... that doesn’t exactly sound like _french vogue_.” katya snickers to herself when she remembers one of alaska’s rap lines. _drink dick like sierra mist, call me craig, cause i’m on that list._ too bad she can’t mention it. nor can she mention that alaska is really fucking stupid for trusting some random stranger off _craigslist_ to take her picture nude. the right to call someone a dumbass is reserved for friends and her and alaska aren’t really friends yet.

“no, i did it for _fame_ \- my friend. she’s one of the actresses and models i work with for our university's productions. it was her suggestion.”

katya swallows her own spit the wrong way, making an undignified choking sound. when alaska looks over to her with confusion, katya tries to relax her face. “it’s nothing,” katya lies, “it just sounds like a really narcissistic stage name.”

“speaking of narcissism,” alaska segways, “the principal isn’t exactly into younger women.”

“oh, fuck me,” katya swears, “seduction was my only plan - i don’t even have a resume.”

**Author's Note:**

> virgotrixie.tumblr.com


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